He's Playing Quidditch Now
by SqutternutBosh
Summary: Sometimes, all anyone needs is a little reassurance. George and Arthur talk after the Final Battle. Set just after Deathly Hallows, so spoilers. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Me? Own Harry Potter and all related trademarks? You've got be kidding!... Seriously, I don't.

A/N: For anyone who's wondering, set the night after the Final Battle. Spoilers, so be careful.

Arthur Weasley sighed, his heart aching. Beside him, he could hear the racking sobs of his wife, whom he had tried to calm. But, it wasn't easy. He understood her heart-wrenching pain and raw grief. They all had to mourn him, in their own way. Molly did so by openly expressing the emptiness she suddenly felt, each tear mingling with another on her reddened cheeks. It was best to let her cry and hide away when somebody tried to comfort her. She coped by knowing that there were still others who needed her to be there for them. She never expected the same in return.

He swung his legs off the bed, putting his head despairingly in his hands. He could feel the last of his flaming red hair beneath his warm palms. He rubbed his hands down over his face in a weary action, wiping below his wise eyes. He had seen many things during his lifetime, but no sight before had been as anguishing as that of seeing his middle son dead.

Arthur had always considered Fred to be 'the middle one,' simply because he was. He had been born mere minutes before George, making him the fourth child. Three older than him, three younger than him. Arthur was sure that Fred had never considered himself the middle child, purely because he was a twin. And the twins did everything together.

George. Amongst his own grief and sense of loss, Arthur's heart cried out to the younger twin. The only twin, left alone in the world without his constant companion. Arthur didn't think he would ever understand just how painful a blow Fred's death had been to George. The twins had been together almost every waking moment of their lives. Now, one of those lives had been snuffed out. Arthur tried not to think about it, but the final battle was so fresh in everybody's mind. He wasn't the only parent who would be there to see one of his children gently lowered into the ground.

With another sigh, he stood. He softly put his hand on his wife's shoulder, feeling her shudder and shake in her uncontrollable emotional state. He just wanted to reassure her, to let her know that he was there for her when she was ready. He took his hand back and watched her back for a moment. The fact that she was taking his death so hard made it even worse.

His eyes now accustomed to the dark, Arthur picked up his wand from the bedside table and shuffled quietly over to the door, which was ajar slightly. Golden light spilled through the gap, breaking through the pressing darkness. He opened the door wide enough to allow himself to pass through and stepped outside.

The cold flagstones were icy on his bare feet and he could hear each footstep flap on the stone tiles as he passed down the spiralling staircase into the Gryffindor common room. He had expected to find it empty, but one, lone red-headed figure sat crumpled and defeated, staring into the crackling orange flames that leapt up in the grate.

'George?' he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

George turned his head to look at his father. The mischievous sparkle that usually glinted in his blue eyes seemed to have disappeared with his brother's last breath. There was no hope there, just bitter pain and the reflection of hissing flames. He looked away again without a word. Arthur walked over to one of the other squashy armchairs, where he could see George and the sad shadow he cast across the floor.

'You need rest, George,' he said softly. 'We all do.'

George still said nothing, remaining stony in his silence.

'It's over now,' he continued, trying to evoke some sort of reaction. 'It wasn't a lost cause, we fought and we won.'

'Not everybody won,' George muttered darkly, still staring into the fire.

'I don't think everybody ever could have. Death is an inevitable part of war. He knew that. He accepted that, we all did.'

'That doesn't make it right. You could say he died a hero, fighting for what he believed in, but that still doesn't make it right. You can't justify murder, Dad.'

'I'm not trying to… It's just, you know better than anyone that you and everyone else being miserable is not what he would have wanted… Not at all.'

George whipped his head around sharply, meeting his father's gaze properly for the first time.

'Of course I know that, I would want exactly the same. It's just not as easy as it sounds. He's gone forever, I can't move on with my life that fast. Not when he's not here to move on with me…'

Arthur watched his son as he stood, running his hands over his head. He stood with his back to the fire, looking up at the ceiling, his hands placed on the back of his head. He could just about see the tears stinging his eyes.

'I just always thought that when the war was over, we'd finally be able to carry on properly. No more hiding out at Auntie Muriel's, no more secret radio broadcasts just so people could hear the truth… I never imagined this. Not once. In the future I saw, me and Fred were exactly like we always have been and everything was great and everyone, even _Harry_, was happy and carefree… There was no hollow feeling in my stomach. No tears in Mum's eyes. No trying to put on a brave face and forget what happened. No one was missing…' He took in a deep, shuddering breath, his voice shaking. 'No feeling that he's gone and that it's all my fault.'

Arthur was fighting to control his own emotions and hold his own tears at bay. He had never seen George saw vulnerable and alone.

'It's not your fault George. I don't see how you could ever blame yourself,' he said, standing at a near equal height with George.

'Don't you see it?' he spat, almost bitterly, the tears now rolling down his face and splashing onto his ripped robes. '_I _could have gone with Percy to watch that entrance, _I _could have gone instead of Percy and been there to help fight, _I _could have saved him. But _I_ wasn't there.' With every 'I' he indicated himself with his index finger, jabbing it roughly into his chest.

'You can't blame yourself, George,' Arthur said calmly, gripping his son's shoulders and holding his gaze steadily. 'He still might have died, even if some of those things had been true. You can't base your life around ifs, George, especially when you don't know what any of those outcomes could be. Stop thinking about what might have happened and stop blaming yourself.'

'I'm trying!' he snapped, brushing his father's hands away. 'I know it's ridiculous to blame myself, but I can't help it! My head keeps telling me to snap out it, he's gone and I have to move on, but somewhere inside I feel like all of this could have been avoided if I had made different decisions!'

He gestured wildly around him, before looking down wiping stubbornly at his eyes with the back of his hand. Glistening tears still leaked out of the corners, forming salty rivulets down his freckled cheeks. He looked back up again, his voice suddenly steady, but weak. He sounded like the scared little boy he had never been, because he had always had his best friend at his side as a source of comfort and confidence.

'I just never got to say goodbye.'

Arthur felt his heart break for the hundredth time since the war had begun. Each tiny piece cracking off with another death… Moody, Remus, Tonks… Fred. Acting on instinct, he did the only thing he could and engulfed his son in a fatherly hug, where he was finally able to fully break down.

He felt George's tears wet his shoulder and felt his own slide coolly off the end of his nose. They stood that way for a long time. Neither knew exactly how long. Eventually, the tears stopped and Arthur stood staring into the smouldering embers of the fire.

George relinquished his grip and pulled away from his father, wandering over to look out of the window. Hundreds of silver-white stars blotted the inky sky, glowing and twinkling. The moon was a near-full orb suspended on night's purpling cloak. The sun would start to rise soon.

In the paned glass, George could see his own pale reflection, his face flickering in the light of the fading fire. He could see his father watching him with concern, still stood where George had left him. He focused on the view through the glass again, looking out of the smooth, dark lake at the black mountains.

On the school grounds he could see where parts of the forest had been uprooted and ripped apart in the battle, the towering, great trees lay trampled amongst huge chunks of grey brick that littered the sloping lawns. One of the greenhouses was smashed, bits of glass were scattered around its empty metal frame. Nobody was ready to start clearing up yet; they had other worries and grievances.

Once again, Fred's laughing face swam up in the forefront of George's mind and although the pain still stung and he could feel a pricking behind his eyes, it was beginning to mellow. George knew he would never completely get over losing his twin so early on in life, but he could cope. After all, Fred would never forgive him if he let his life fall to ruined pieces. He just had to stop blaming himself and realise that Fred wouldn't have had it any other way. That was one of the pros of having been so close to Fred his entire life- their minds worked the same. He _knew_ what Fred would have wanted, and what he would say if he could see the state George was getting himself into.

'Dad?' he said quietly, turning back around.

'Yes?'

'Do you remember when… when Nana Weasley died?'

Arthur felt his stomach sink ever so slightly at the mention of his mother. 'I remember.'

'And me, Fred, Ron and Ginny didn't understand what had happened.'

'You all wanted to know where she'd gone.'

'You told us she'd gone to a better place.'

'Yes… Then, you or Fred-,'

'It was Fred,' George stated briefly.

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched upwards briefly as he remembered what Fred had asked. 'Of course. Fred asked if there was Quidditch there.'

'You said there was.'

'I did.'

George smiled a small smile. It showed his grief, but also his hope at this reassurance. Of course he would see Fred again.

'I think he'd like that.'

A/N: Okay, so first Harry Potter fic up on this site. Not quite sure how I feel about it though… Feel free to let me know!


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